


Hold Me, Thrill Me

by tamed_untranslatable



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff and Smut, Intergluteal Sex, M/M, Massage, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:55:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27645128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamed_untranslatable/pseuds/tamed_untranslatable
Summary: Sherlock helps John relax.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 7
Kudos: 77





	Hold Me, Thrill Me

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd.

It had been a long week, and John’s sleep schedule was utterly shot. They’d worked a case for most of the night on Tuesday, slept into the afternoon Wednesday, then had another in erratic bursts until Saturday, when they’d grabbed naps whenever they could. It was a gloomy Sunday afternoon now, and John had only had about four hours of sleep last night before they’d had to get up early for one last trip to the Yard, and now that they were done John felt drained and disoriented. It was only two in the afternoon, but he knew the rest of the day would be a write-off. He sat down heavily in his chair with a book, while Sherlock stood over in the corner plucking at his violin. John would have to write up the case tomorrow.

But he was just as useless trying to read, as it turned out. His eyes kept slipping over the words, unable to absorb them, and he found himself staring into the unlit fireplace, his mind dancing around in scattered circles. John rested his chin on his hand – his head was feeling heavier, and he needed to support it so he could stay awake, but the more he tried to concentrate, the more he felt his eyes drifting in and out of focus, the sitting room blending into a haze…

When he pulled his eyes open, groggily, the sun had shifted to the other side of the sky. _Dammit._ John’s face had managed to stay mashed against his weakened fist, and he raised it – slowly, because a massive crick suddenly made itself known in the left side of his neck. He groaned a little.

“Ah, you’re awake,” said Sherlock, who had since sat down on the sofa with a book of his own – some new study on forensics that he’d been going through, and occasionally correcting. He snapped it shut with a look at John, though, and stood up.

“Yeah,” John said, a bit mumbly, as he tried to move his neck. “ _Oof_ ,” he hissed; the pain had spiked up and radiated down to his shoulder. He reached his hand up, trying to knead it into submission.

But Sherlock was already on his way over. Without missing a beat, he came around the back of John’s chair and began massaging his neck and shoulders, working his clever fingers around to find the knots in his muscles, and coax them out firmly but carefully. John dropped his hand and sighed, and sank into the contact.

“Mmm.” The crown of John’s head relaxed, and he let his shoulders drop. He felt better already.

“You could have had the sofa, you know,” Sherlock said, with a smile in his voice.

“Yeah, well,” John smirked back. He gave a deep satisfying exhale, as Sherlock worked his thumbs into his shoulder blade. “It wasn’t a planned thing.”

Sherlock chuckled, that deep, gorgeous, affectionate chuckle he had, that came from low in his chest. He pressed a kiss to the top of John’s head. John closed his eyes, savoring it.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he said, gently.

Sherlock’s hands circled back to his shoulders. They were warm, and soft.

“Better?” he asked.

“Mhm.” John could feel his muscles unstiffening, warmth flooding in to replace the ache. He felt himself leaning back into it, as he melted into Sherlock’s touch.

Sherlock carried on. He worked John’s shoulders, down to his upper arms, then back up to his neck, where he dug his fingers in hard. John groaned a little – the pressure ached a bit at first, but it was followed by sweet release, and then lightness. They moved up to rub at the nape of his neck, at the top of his spine; and every so often, he leaned in again, and pressed a soft kiss to John’s scalp, and John felt love spread out from it, all down his body.

He sighed happily. Sherlock was moving back down to his shoulders, gentling his ministrations.

“Alright?”

“Yeah,” John replied, though with a small note of reluctance in his voice. He didn’t want him to stop.

“Good,” Sherlock said, kissing at the hair above John’s temple.

“Your hands are magic,” John murmured, fondly.

He heard a small breath of a laugh above him. “Hardly.”

“Yeah, they are,” John grinned. “Don’t be modest, you’re wonderful.”

“I’m not modest,” Sherlock said with a chuckle. He leaned in a bit, carefully working John’s left shoulder. “I just want to take care of you.”

John’s heart thumped with adoration. “That’s why you’re wonderful.”

John exhaled contentedly, basking in how relaxed he suddenly felt. “Oh, I could do this all day.”

Sherlock slowed his movements a little. Then after a second, he leaned in further, his lips close to John’s ear.

“I could arrange that,” he murmured.

John’s ears pricked up – he instinctively leaned in toward him.

“Do you want a proper massage?” Sherlock asked.

John turned his neck, so that he could feel Sherlock’s warm breath on his face.

“Really?”

“Mhm,” Sherlock hummed – a low rumble next to John’s ear. He wrapped his right arm around John’s chest, resting his hand on John’s left shoulder, close to their faces. As close to an embrace as he could get, from where he was standing.

“Sure, if you’re offering,” John answered him. A huge, fond smile had pushed its way up onto John’s face. God, this man, this _wonderful_ man.

“Alright,” Sherlock murmured against his lips, then kissed him. It was tender and soft, and John sank into him. He tasted sweet, with a hint of tea and sugar in his breath.

“Why don’t you go take a shower,” Sherlock muttered, with a few quick, smaller kisses. “Loosen up your shoulder, and I’ll get everything ready?”

“Oh?” John raised his eyebrows. He hadn’t expected Sherlock to pull out all the stops, but God, it just made the burst of affection in his chest swell up even more.

“Yeah.” Sherlock dipped in for one last kiss. “Go on. And meet me in the bedroom.”

“Okay,” John whispered. Suddenly, he didn’t have much breath left to speak.

Reluctantly, he untangled himself from Sherlock’s warm embrace, and squeezed his hand before heading off to the shower. Sherlock passed him on his way to the bedroom, flashing him a knowing smile. John felt a twinge of something in his belly, and hurried up.

He lingered under the warm spray just long enough to feel some of the tension ebb away from his shoulder and lower back, and there was a pleasant current of warmth underneath his skin. He stepped out of the shower with that pleasant feeling that the air in the flat was outside of him, rather than a part of him. Feeling thoroughly loosened up, he gave his hair a quick towel dry, then pulled on the nearest dressing gown – Sherlock’s red one, as it turned out – then opened the door to the bedroom.

Sherlock had brought out candles, which were now burning on each of the nightstands. The lights were dimmed, and the flames gave the room a quiet, intimate glow. It was like stepping inside after a long day out in the cold, with a bright red fire in the hearth, waiting for you. Sherlock had folded the blankets back, leaving a stretch of bare sheets for John to lie on, and in his hand was a bottle of massage oil, which they’d bought on their last holiday.

John moved in close and kissed him, long and deep, wrapping his arms around his trim waist. Sherlock’s lips opened underneath his, smiling a little into it. His arm fell across John’s shoulders. It was a personal haven, carved out just for John.

“You are the most thoughtful man in the world,” he whispered to him.

Sherlock chuckled in surprise. “I don’t know many people who would say that.”

“Who cares. I’m the only one that matters,” John murmured.

“Yes, you are.” Sherlock kissed him again, nipping softly at his bottom lip. “Lie down.”

John slipped off the dressing gown and obeyed. He settled down on the soft sheets, with his head resting on his hands. His naked body was laid bare before Sherlock, and it sent a thrill out through his every nerve. He couldn’t quite see, but he suspected Sherlock was taking a moment to stare at him, to take him all in, and it made him feel incredible.

Soon the weight of Sherlock settled on him, as he straddled John’s hips. John heard the _snick_ of the bottle cap opening, and then Sherlock’s hands were on him again, slicked with warm oil, rubbing at the tightness in his back.

John let out a low sigh that almost sounded like a moan. It felt so _good_ – Sherlock’s hands were lithe and dextrous, and they searched every muscle for knots, any hint of stiffness. They rubbed long passes all along the length of his back, then slowly worked from the top of his neck downward. They dug in everywhere, leaving no part of him unattended to.

Sherlock took his time, gradually moving lower. John’s shoulder sang out with relief, as the pressure melted away, carrying the tension with it. He hummed out his appreciation.

“Good?” came Sherlock’s voice.

“Yeah,” said John, a bit breathlessly.

Sherlock worked into his left shoulder a bit harder – knowing how stubborn it could be, sometimes. He found where John was carrying the worst of it, and put his weight behind his hand.

“Ooh, yeah,” John sighed out. “Right there.”

Sherlock’s rumbling chuckle flowed through John’s body, warm and husky and smooth. He bent down and pressed a kiss to the area.

“ _Shameless,_ Doctor Watson,” he murmured against him.

John felt the thing in his belly coil up tighter, and hotter.

“Problem?” he asked.

Sherlock grinned. “No.”

He straightened up, and kept working down John’s back. It only took a few minutes for John to feel looser than he had all week. He sighed, contentedly, but the feeling of relaxation was fading to the back of his mind, now, the longer Sherlock’s hands were on him. The warmth of them, the skill of them, the way they were drawing up the heat inside him to the surface with every sweet, reverent touch. A different kind of tension was building up in his body.

Sherlock’s hands rubbed down to the small of his back, kneading out the stiffness of his lower spine, and John moaned. He felt his hips shifting a little, with the motion of Sherlock’s hands, and a current of sweet fire shot up into John’s chest, at the friction underneath him.

He heard Sherlock’s quiet laughter again – _God,_ that laughter could make John melt just on its own. Low, rumbling, smooth as chocolate. It made him give out another little moan, and sink into the feeling, relishing every luxurious rub, every sensual touch.

Sherlock slicked his hands with more oil, and smoothed up John’s back. He made slow passes, up and down – _too_ slowly, actually.

“More, love,” John rasped out.

Sherlock added more pressure, grabbing handfuls of skin at John’s shoulders, massaging deep and hard, hitting his every muscle in a way that made it sing out with relief. But John wasn’t thinking about his muscles anymore – the pain in his neck was long gone, and Sherlock was making him feel _amazing_ , and the fire of want was burning hotter inside him every minute.

“Sherlock…”

“ _Patience_.” Sherlock’s lips were suddenly close to his ear, crooning softly. He kissed at John’s lobe, then nipped at the skin below it with just a hint of teeth, and John moaned again, in earnest now.

Sherlock’s hands kept working, him, teasing him softly with his bloody _amazing_ touches. His spine tingled with an ever-climbing tide of arousal, Sherlock’s fingers sending hot sparks out along his every nerve.

John sighed, and his hips hitched again, rutting half-heartedly at the sheets beneath. He could barely move them, though, what with Sherlock’s weight pressing down on his lower back, and _God_ , that just made it even hotter. He was utterly at Sherlock’s mercy.

He felt Sherlock’s lips kissing at his neck again – open mouth kisses, laving hot and wet over his burning skin. Sherlock’s mouth followed his hands, working their way down John’s back – he’d finish rubbing a particular notch down his spine, then lay a kiss there, taking his time and being particularly thorough with his lips and tongue. John heard himself making soft little sounds into his hands, his voice hitching in his throat. Sherlock seemed to like it – he could feel him making little humming sounds of his own, which rumbled down John’s back.

It seemed like ages before Sherlock finally reached the base of his spine, and then his hands grabbed two fistfuls of his bare arse. An involuntary groan barked out of John’s throat. Oh _God,_ he was a mess, he was a trembling wreck of desire.

“Sherlock…” he managed to gasp out.

“Yes?” Sherlock replied, with a smug sort of innocence in his voice.

John moaned again, desperate. “Please…”

“Hmm,” Sherlock said, as if he were really thinking on it. “How _immodest_ of you, John. This was supposed to relax you, but look, you’re all wound up again.”

“Love, please…” John’s hips tried to rut forward again, but Sherlock’s hands on his arse held him firm.

“You incorrigible man,” Sherlock went on. His hands started to knead gently at his buttocks, and it sent jolts of arousal down to John’s cock – hard now, trapped underneath him. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this was a scheme to get me into bed.”

“This was – _oh,_ ” John’s breath caught, as Sherlock’s thumb dipped between his cheeks. “This was _your_ – idea…”

“Was it?” Sherlock’s voice smooth and rich as honey. “I must be as shameless as you are.”

John couldn’t reply, because he was busy moaning wantonly at the feeling of Sherlock’s fingertip teasing his hole. Still slick from the massage oil, it rubbed slow circles around the rim. It felt _heavenly_ , and John tried to push back against it, but again, Sherlock held him firm.

“Wait,” Sherlock said, sweetly. He’d dropped the teasing note from his voice. With his free hand, he rubbed slow circles on John’s lower back. “Let me take care of you.”

John’s heart swelled up – the burst of affection was so powerful and so sudden it knocked him off balance. He managed to nod his head a little, and still his hips, and just try to feel every little touch of Sherlock’s perfect fingers.

Sherlock smoothed his hand up and down John’s back again, a tender caress to ground him. John sighed into it anyway. He could feel the reverence in it, the devotion.

Then his breath hitched as Sherlock’s fingertip pushed inside him – just barely, just the slightest amount of pressure that made that tight ring of muscle relax, but it made the fire in John’s belly erupt. His entire body was alight, all heat, all want.

“Mmm,” Sherlock hummed. John could hear an undercurrent of arousal in his voice too. But his was calmer. He was savoring it.

John tried to savor it too, but even the little movements as Sherlock’s fingertip worked its way inside him were driving him mad. He wanted all of him, _now_ – but at the same time, letting Sherlock take control like this, go at his own pace, was so bloody sexy it made his toes curl. He pulled in long, slow breaths, and tried to get himself under control.

“Oh, Sherlock…”

Sherlock worked his way in just a little more, just enough to make John’s arsehole clench around him with desire. He groaned, low and guttural from deep within his chest, and Sherlock was low over him again, leaving kisses all over his shoulders and up his neck.

“You’re beautiful, John,” he whispered into the crook of his neck. His chest pressed up warm against his back – at some point, he’d rid himself of his shirt – and John could feel his heartbeat against his skin. His own pulse was pounding harder, more insistent every second.

“Mmm,” John moaned. He wasn’t sure he could manage anything more, now. He reached his hand up behind him, trying to find Sherlock and hold on, and Sherlock grabbed it and laced his fingers with his.

“Alright?” he murmured.

“Yeah,” John managed. He turned his head, blindly, but Sherlock found his lips. John pushed his tongue into the heat of his mouth, sloppy and uncoordinated, but Sherlock responded with just as much enthusiasm. There was something so intimate about it, him so steady and sure, while John was coming undone under his hands.

After a moment, Sherlock broke off, then reached toward the drawer of the nightstand. Massage oil wouldn’t do now, lube was needed, and John had just a moment to catch his breath while Sherlock slicked his fingers.

Sherlock’s hand was slightly colder when it returned, and John gasped a little, but then he pushed inward again, and John’s mind exploded with sensation. Sherlock worked his way into the first knuckle, and John couldn’t help the little mewling sounds that were coming out of his mouth, or the way his hips kept trying to move, or the way his arsehole clenched again, trying to pull him deeper.

“Oh, you’re magnificent,” Sherlock whispered. Slowly, he buried his finger in deeper, up to the second knuckle, then the third, all the while keeping a firm grip on John’s arse cheek with his free hand.

“Mmm, Sherlock…” John panted. His entire body was burning with feeling.

The breath was knocked out of him again as Sherlock began to push his second finger in alongside the first. Gently, and _still_ so unbearably slowly, he pumped them in and out, keeping John keening into him as much as he could with the limited amount he could move.

“Oh, _God,_ love…” John whimpered.

A powerful jolt shot up John’s spine as Sherlock scissored his fingers slightly. John cried out softly into the mattress. God, he loved those fingers, those long, deft, gorgeous fingers. They could draw pleasure out of him as if it were a science, touch him in ways that he never knew were possible. They felt so incredible inside him, John felt he was going to lose his mind if Sherlock kept teasing him like this.

“Sherlock – please – I need more…”

And then Sherlock crooked those fingers inside him.

“Oh, _God!”_

The heat inside him roared up to an inferno. He was seeing stars. Currents of pleasure shot up from inside him, up to the tip of his scalp, as Sherlock brushed against John’s prostate. 

He heard Sherlock moan above him, dimly, and his free hand held John steady by the hips.

John couldn’t stop himself from trying to buck up into Sherlock’s hands – Sherlock let him, a little, though his weight on him still kept him fairly well pinned. A low, continuous moan was emitting from John’s chest now, as every delicate brush against that sweet spot inside him sent him spiralling into another wave of pleasure.

“Sherlock – _ah –_ Sherlock…”

He barely heard himself, he was too lost in it. Sherlock smoothed his hand up and down John’s side a little, and sped up his strokes within him. John cried out, the pressure in his abdomen mounting. It was _amazing_ , and he still craved more, still wanted more of that touch that was taking him apart so completely.

He heard Sherlock hum contentedly above him. “You feel incredible, John.”

“Nnngh.” John felt the muscles of his arse clenching, still.

Sherlock felt it, and pulled his fingers out. John almost sobbed at the sudden feeling of emptiness, but Sherlock was back in a second with three fingers, teasing his hole for a moment before working their way in. John felt his fists clenching above his head, every muscle in his body seemingly thrown into overdrive. He cried out again when the three fingers brushed that spot inside him again – oh, he could just _dissolve._

“Sherlock…” he was able to get out, weakly.

Sherlock understood, and tugged at John’s hips, gently. John’s legs shook when he tried to raise himself up, but Sherlock quickly shoved a pillow underneath them for support. He pumped his fingers in and out, faster now, faster than the torturously slow tempo that had been building John up toward the edge for what seemed like _forever_ , and John felt the heat behind his belly coiling tight enough to snap.

He bucked his hips into the pillow, his cock rutting against it, and the friction was just this side of too rough, but he didn’t care. All he could feel were Sherlock’s fingers stoking the fire inside him, every sweet stroke against his prostate making him shudder with feeling.

“Love…I need…”

Sherlock ran a soothing hand down John’s side, then reached around him and took hold of his cock. John groaned, half in relief, and pushed into his hand without pausing.

All the muscles in his torso tensed at once as Sherlock’s hand rocked with him, pace quickening, his grip tightening and twisting, smearing precome up and down John’s shaft to ease his way. John was caught between thrusting into his grip and pushing back against his fingers, which were pumping in and out of him whirlingly fast now, and he was dizzy, his entire body on fire, he barely knew where he ended and Sherlock’s hands began.

“ _Yes_ – oh, John…”

John felt his orgasm bearing down upon him, building deep inside his belly, Sherlock’s incredible fingers bringing him nearer and nearer to the precipice, oh, _God,_ he was close, he was close, just a bit more…

“Sh-Sherlock…”

“Mmm, go on.” Sherlock’s honeyed voice spilled over him like a sensual tide.

He gave a sharp twist of his wrist, hooked his fingers once more inside him, and John tumbled over the edge.

He cried out, a sustained, high-pitched moan, and his hips bucked into Sherlock’s fist, rutting against the friction of the sheets, the pillow. The heat overtook him, an overwhelming burst of unbelievable pleasure, sparks shooting along every inch of his body, down to the tips of his fingers. John rode it out, trembling with ecstasy, then, feeling lightheaded, collapsed in a heap into the mattress. He pulled in deep, gasping breaths, his skin tingling with aftershocks.

He felt Sherlock’s fingers ease their way out of him, gently, and his hands rubbing up and down his back, grounding him, bringing him back to his body. And oh, John’s every cell was sated with pleasure – his limbs were heavy, his mind utterly blissed out. It had been weeks since he’d felt this good.

As the haze of his arousal ebbed away, and Sherlock’s mouth came to kiss tenderly at the nape of his neck, John started to feel the remaining tension in Sherlock’s hands, in his torso pressed up against his back. John sighed, contentedly, tried to push back against him, but only managed to twitch his hips the slightest bit.

“Your turn,” he breathed out.

Sherlock kissed between his shoulder blades, then shifted – John heard his trousers hitting the floor. Then his warmth was hovering over him again. Sherlock shifted his weight to his elbows, his head bent downward to drag his lips down John’s neck, and his warm, hard cock slid into place between John’s arse cheeks.

John gave a contented sigh – he couldn’t move much, but it felt nice. Sherlock’s length slid slowly up and down, then faster, as his hips started to piston forward more erratically and he lost himself to the feeling.

“John…” He breathed his hot breath against John’s neck. “John…”

“Yeah,” John murmured back. He could feel the tension building in Sherlock’s abdomen. With great effort, he rocked his arse back into him, meeting his thrusts with tiny movements of his own. He’d use whatever he had in him to make Sherlock feel good, even if it utterly paled in comparison to the treatment he’d just received.

He felt Sherlock’s breath quicken against his skin, and he sped up his thrusts. Soft moans were escaping from his throat now, his arms shaking where they bracketed John’s body. His cock leaked fluid on to the small of John’s back. He was warm, and his touch was sweet, even in John’s hazy, post-orgasm bliss. He rutted against John harder, and deeper, chasing the precipice of his own pleasure. John shifted himself upward just a little, and clenched his arse cheeks.

With the extra friction on his cock, Sherlock cried out, gave another hard thrust, two three, and then he was coming, too. He spilled out over John’s lower back, over the top of his arse, and John sighed with another aftershock of pleasure running through him. Sherlock panted, his belly tensing up – John wished he had the strength to roll over and touch him, but settled for covering Sherlock’s hand with his own where it rested near John’s face, and running his thumb tenderly over Sherlock’s.

Sherlock’s body sank onto him, his entire weight pinning him to the mattress. John hummed, smiling – he was warm, and soft, and John had never felt more relaxed.

Sherlock panted into the side of his neck as he caught his breath. His fingers curled around John’s, gently.

“Feel better?” he asked, breathless in John’s ear.

John let out a low giggle.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “ _Much_ better.”

Sherlock pressed a long, smiling kiss beneath John’s ear. They stayed there for a long moment, not bothering to move, even as John felt the strength start to flow back into his limbs. There was nowhere in the world that John wanted to be more than here.

Eventually, he felt Sherlock shift above him. He was moving to get up.

John clung on to his hand, still laced with his. “Stay,” he murmured.

“I am.” Sherlock gave a gentle kiss to the nape of John’s neck. “Just one second.”

John gave a little groan of complaint, but he let Sherlock untangle himself from him and go off into the bathroom for a flannel. It _did_ feel good, though, as Sherlock wiped gently at his back, at the cleft of his arse, at the sticky sheets beneath his soft cock. Sherlock tossed the pillow away and climbed back into bed, and John managed to roll over onto his side and reach out for him.

Sherlock’s arms wrapped around him, and John slotted into the shape of his body, his head on Sherlock’s chest. It was pure comfort, all soft warmth and familiar sweetness. He was made to fit here, with Sherlock holding him close.

“Love you,” John murmured against him.

Sherlock pressed a kiss to his temple. “I love you.”

It was a perfect afternoon, really. John felt so utterly satisfied, his body heavy with the kind of tiredness that only comes with pure contentment.

“You make me so happy.” John could hear the sleep creeping into his voice. He hoped he wasn’t mumbling too much – he needed Sherlock to know.

Sherlock’s hand threaded through the hair at the nape of his neck – and the touch was so tender that John knew he did.

“So do you,” he whispered.

John smiled, his body slowly sinking further into heaviness. “Tomorrow’ll be your turn,” he muttered. His words were a bit sloppy, pressed into Sherlock’s skin. “I’ll make you feel that good, too.”

He felt Sherlock smile fondly at his forehead, and a small rumble of laughter echoed from his chest into John’s.

“Go to sleep, John,” he whispered. “You’ve earned it.”

John did so happily, his thoughts hazy with love.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Your comments are always appreciated <3.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Hold Me, Thrill Me: A Sequel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29372895) by [TiaWattpader](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiaWattpader/pseuds/TiaWattpader)




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